


History is written by the winners, and all of us are illiterate

by ChipperChemical



Series: Dream SMP stuff [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, dream team smp
Genre: :(, Alternate Universe, Angst, Does anyone truly know how to tag? No., Gen, L’Manburg: noooo! u can’t just betray us!, SeretoninNotFound, Tubbo is Fed Up, Tubbo: haha button go brrrrrrr, emotional angst, literally only angst, no-one is happy, traitor au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipperChemical/pseuds/ChipperChemical
Summary: Everyone has limits. Even the kindest people you’ve ever met can turn on you in a matter of seconds.Tubbo discovers his limits.[AKA- AU where Tubbo is the traitor instead of Eret]
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, everyone from the revolution war so
Series: Dream SMP stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181660
Comments: 18
Kudos: 581





	History is written by the winners, and all of us are illiterate

**Author's Note:**

> I will face god and moonwalk backwards into hell.
> 
> This work is kind of clunky because it isn’t very thoroughly proofread, but we die like men. Enjoy! 
> 
> (Or don’t. It’s pretty sad.)

“The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his.” Wilbur recalled, shuffling alongside his fellow revolutionists through the small underground tunnel, “George S Patton.”

Eret leaned to the side slightly to look past the others — which was difficult to do in single-file — trying to figure out where exactly they were going. Just a few hours after the war began, Tubbo had herded everyone in L’Manburg into a secret entrance by the side of a hill, leading to a metre-wide (at a guess) tunnel: Eret had never been one for details. Despite everything, they had been walking down the path for a few minutes now, the only real sounds being the soft cascade of dirt underneath their boots and the occasional conversation muttered between them.

“What a quote.” Tommy commented, nearly walking right into Fundy’s back as Tubbo unexpectedly stopped and flicked a switch, the notorious scraping of pistons sounding out. As he gestured vaguely towards the room which was now accessible, each of the L’Manburg members filed in, their eyes immediately being caught by the chests baring their names, not even questioning it when Tubbo glanced worriedly at each of the walls.

“Woah, what?” Eret gasped, looking to each of the others in a mutual shock. No-one dared to move, either from awe or embarrassment for having the lowest self-control, until Tubbo grinned happily.

“I told you I made preparations!” The blond exclaimed, clasping his hands together excitedly and bouncing on the toe of his shoe, “Each of you have a chest of your own supplies!”

“Tubbo...” Fundy whispered in shock, glancing to each of the chests in the blackstone room and noticing how each of them were labelled with a name (though, he noticed, Eret’s was misspelled as ‘ _Erit_ ’).

“Do you not have a chest?” Eret pointed out, motioning to the four boxes in the room, “There’s one for all of us except you.”

“Hey, yeah!” Tommy noticed, looking at each of the chests, then at Tubbo, who was still grinning, a knowing glint in his eye. If he hadn’t known better, Tommy would’ve thought that Tubbo looked malicious, but Tubbo was the kindest soul he’d ever met, so he brushed the thought off as absurd.

“Don’t worry, I got everything in my inventory ready,” Tubbo reached into his inventory, kitting himself out in mismatched netherite-diamond gear, a shield in one hand and an end crystal in the other, “See?”

“Tubbo, how did you manage to do all of this?” Eret asked, taking a moment to examine Tubbo’s newly-equipped armour and his shield. Though slightly scratched and splintered, the kit looked mostly brand new, which was impressive in itself, especially considering how little time Tubbo had to prepare. The blond unequipped his armour, setting his tools away once again.

“About ten hours of grinding and villager trading.” Tubbo hummed, a satisfied smile settling on his face, his eyes glimmering slightly.

“Guys...” Wilbur piped up, no-one having noticed that he’d moved to the left of the room, where his chest was. The lid was swung open, “There’s nothing in here.”

“Seriously?” Fundy quirked an eyebrow, stepping to his chest and clicking it open, “Nothing in mine.”

“There’s no way that Dream found this place...” Eret observed, looking around at the plain black walls, the only doorway being the one they walked through, which had been hidden behind the undisturbed dirt.

“Tubbo, what’s—?” But Wilbur’s question fell upon deaf ears as Tubbo stepped forward, pressing a button on the floor with the toe of his boot and looking to each of his teammates. His eyes lingered as silence overcame them.

“I’m sorry.”

The all-too-familiar shift of a piston retracting echoed throughout the room, the entrance closing and four new doorways being revealed. There was a fleeting moment of baited breath, before four netherite-clad enemies pounced from the shadows, immediately scrambling to each grab a member of L’Manburg. Within the chaos, Eret vaguely remembered elbowing someone — more likely an ally than not — and Wilbur simply gave in, not seeing the point in fighting back when they were devoid of any decent weapons, let alone anything which could overpower the trained fighters.

Fundy pushed himself against a wall in an attempt to hide, but to no avail, as George pressed a glowing sword to his neck, grinning almost sadistically as Wilbur was thrown against the wall next to him, letting out a pained groan as his head collided. On the other side of the small room, Tommy swore to himself that he wouldn’t go down without a fight, kicking and hitting blindly at Punz, managing to knock his sword from his hand, sending it sliding across the room. Spotting a glimmer of hope, Tommy lunged for the weapon, only to be pulled back as Punz grabbed him, clasping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to quieten the various threats Tommy began shouting.

Not accepting this as his defeat, Tommy thrashed against Punz’s hold, biting his hand harshly and drawing a string of cusses from the American, who yanked his hand away just long enough for Tommy to wriggle from his grasp, stumbling a few times before looking up and going for Punz’s throat, which he would’ve managed if Punz hadn’t clumsily dodged.

“Bit of help!” Punz requested as Tommy darted at him again, kneeing him in the stomach and making him stutter. Looking from the ongoing fight to Wilbur’s defeated expression, Dream nodded once to himself as confirmation, nudging George and motioning for him to keep an eye on Fundy and Wilbur, just as Sapnap pinned Eret to the same wall with his sword against his throat mercilessly. Dream spun on his heel, drawing his own sword offensively and sprinting to Punz, who had Tommy in a quickly escaped headlock.

Despite being unarmed, Tommy had managed to do a number on Punz, giving him a busted lip and numerous scratches and bite marks, even drawing blood in a few unfortunate places. In fact, the Brit was reaching for Punz’s discarded sword when Dream took action, swinging at his arm and surely piercing the skin with a harsh wound, since Tommy stumbled away immediately, clutching his arm and shouting some colourful insults towards Dream Team SMP. Dream grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and chucked him carelessly to the wall with the other three, letting him slump against the floor numbly, still hissing in pain at his arm, which was turning his blue sleeve a dark, almost black, crimson.

George and Sapnap stepped back from where they were pinning two of the others to the wall, their weapons still drawn menacingly while Punz grabbed his own sword and silently recovered, joining the other two in a line, facing the L’Manburg members, between them and the exit, albeit all of the exits had been blocked again anyway. The ragged revolutionists were slouched against the cold wall, each looking defeated and disappointed that they’d let themselves be ambushed so easily, except Tommy, who looked the slightest bit triumphant as he eyed Punz up and down, who waved a middle finger at him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the scum of our server.” Dream tutted, almost scoldingly, despite the smile being evident in his voice. He stepped in front of his teammates, facing the enemies fully, his mask lopsided but still covering his face. 

“We’re not part of your server!” Eret scowled, adjusting his cracked sunglasses. As Dream laughed mockingly, Fundy looked to his teammates sadly, all three of them slumped and— _Three_?

“Where’s Tubbo?” Fundy blurted, making each of his fellow revolutionists pause, looking around, finding no sign of their youngest member. Wilbur finally cracked, his previously emotionless expression switching to anger, no matter how much he tried to fight it.

“Where’s Tubbo?!” He echoed, accusation laced within his anger as he glared at each of the opposition. As if on cue, Tubbo stepped out from behind a hurriedly-placed mound of blackstone, and it became obvious how tired his eyes were, and how dull his usually bright demeanour was. Almost reluctantly, he walked forward, standing beside Dream and averting his gaze to the floor, not daring to look up in fear of what he may see.

“Tubbo! What’re you—?” Eret stepped forward, reaching out to Tubbo before George glared at him, the unspoken threat hanging in the air until he moved back against the wall. Casually, Dream slung an arm over Tubbo’s shoulder, and Tommy stood because _he was the only one who could interact with Tubbo like that._

“Tubbo here has something to tell you all,” Even behind the mask, everyone knew that Dream was grinning like the luckiest bastard in the world, and perhaps that’s exactly what he was, “Don’t you?”

With a few moments of hesitation, Tubbo brought himself to look up and immediately regretted it. Fundy was looking at him kindly, but a sense of confusion was glazed over his eyes, like he hadn’t quite figured out what was happening; Eret, on the other hand, had a gaze of laser, so strong that Tubbo thought he could feel Eret’s eyes _burning_ a hole in him, with an almost-impressive amount of anger packed behind the glasses. Shifting his vision, Tubbo looked at Wilbur, whose eyes were layered with so much pure hurt, it made Tubbo ache — not even a hint of anger was behind the saddened eyes, just pure, unbridled emotion. As soon as Will noticed he was being stared at, his expression shifted to one of stern cold, but no matter how hard he tried, that look of betrayal wouldn’t leave his head. And Tommy... 

Tubbo couldn’t bare it anymore, so he stared at the barren wall behind his once-teammates, mustering up courage for a moment more before he shrugged Dream’s arm away, sighing softly as he fumbled to take his blue jacket off, finally managing after seconds which felt like hours and tossing it on the ground before him, between two of the trick chests. The jacket was quickly tailed with his hat being thrown on top of it. Now in only his plain white shirt and black trousers, Tubbo spoke.

“Down with the revolution.” Tubbo silently cursed his voice for shaking on the last word as his gaze stuck on the pile of discarded uniform before him, “It was never meant to be.

Silence had never been so heavy. 

“Tubbo, you—“ Fundy began, only to be interrupted by Tommy, who had been staring at the clothes, before he lifted his gaze disbelievingly. 

“No! Tubbo isn’t a traitor! He just— isn’t!” Tommy shouted, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else, pushing away Wilbur’s offered hand of support and shoving himself forward slightly, despite the drawn crossbows and swords, “Tubbo wouldn’t do this! I don’t know what you bastards have done to him, but this isn’t right! Tubbo’s spent hours — no, _days_! — preparing supplies for us! He’s spoken to us about our plans, he’s spent nights awake with me scheming for escape routes and ideas! He- He-“ 

“Tommy, quit running your mouth.” Wilbur advised, pointedly ignoring Tommy’s glare to him. 

“That’s funny,” Sapnap commented, leaning on his sword like a cane, grinning lopsidedly, “I seem to remember something about Tubbo gathering supplies for us. I mean, we couldn’t have earned all this brand new netherite without an expert, could we?” 

“And I remember hearing Tubbo rant about how ignored and belittled he felt when you guys took him for granted and insulted him, treating him ‘like a replaceable errand boy’. His words, not mine.” George added, a glint of mischief in his eyes as Punz snickered into his hands. 

The revolutionists gaped in the static silence, almost afraid to move, which in hindsight, they probably were, with Sapnap’s sword still drawn as a constant reminder of the strict rules. Within only a few moments of shocked hush, Tubbo broke, shattering the silence with a long-anticipated sob, hunching his shoulders and throwing a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to close the pouring floodgates. 

Trying to make himself smaller (and somewhat more pathetic, though that part wasn’t exactly intentional), Tubbo curled in on himself, his free arm clutching his stomach as the sobs washed over his body, making his shoulders shake with the mere strength of his cries, the shouts and pleas of a defeated boy, broken beyond repair. From behind him, George had the gall, the audacity, to laugh as Tubbo crumpled like a scrap of paper, collapsing to his knees and wailing against the cold floor. George laughed. 

George fucking _laughed_. 

Tommy balled his hands into fists, as he had done too many times to count today, and before anyone could even realise what was happening, he’d lunged at George, pounding at him repeatedly with unbridled fury. Despite his persona, Tommy cared about Tubbo as if they were brothers: like fuck he would let someone laugh at his sorrow. He didn’t feel like he was in control of himself as he knocked George to the stone ground, immediately kneeling with one knee on the floor and the other on George’s diaphragm, winding him and throwing punch after punch at his face. 

Even through his violent rage, he could hear Wilbur’s shouted commands, though they all blurred into non-understandable gibberish; to his hatred, Tommy could still hear the fear laced into his leader’s voice, but he shoved that away, channeling his anger purely into George. After a moment longer, he was dragged away by the shoulders, still scrambling and struggling to get more hits in on the Brit, who was coughing up blood, Sapnap at his side helping him. 

Good. Tommy hoped the motherfucker died. 

Finally letting himself calm, Tommy was thrown back against the wall, squinting until his vision cleared and he could see that it was Dream who had grabbed him, Punz cowered in the corner, making the spark of triumph in his stomach grow into a fiery satisfaction as he watched Sapnap force a healing potion down George’s throat. The fizzing cherry liquid soothed George’s wounds, making most of them close and heal until he could breathe again. 

“T-Tommy...” Tubbo choked out, and it took Tommy a moment to realise that his best friend was still on the floor, significantly less crumpled, instead staring at Tommy with widened eyes. Wilbur glared at the impulsive blond as a warning. 

“His fault.” Tommy growled, reaching up and rubbing his cheek, noting how the streaks of red on his knuckles certainly weren’t from him. The realisation would’ve made him crack a smile under any other circumstance, but instead, he simply tensed his jaw. 

“Now,” Dream spoke up, subtly keeping an eye on Tommy as George returned to his feet, Sapnap supporting him with a clothed arm, “I don’t believe we have much more use for you—“ 

“Wait!” To the room’s surprise, it was Tubbo who interrupted next, a flash of annoyance in his glassy eyes as he pushed himself to stand, albeit shakily. Tear tracks were stained on his pale cheeks, and Wilbur felt the urge to protect rush through him, which he quickly pushed away, “You all say what _I_ want. What _I_ will and won’t do. Let me speak. Let me say it.” 

“But—“ Sapnap pointedly ignored Tommy’s glare, “You did say those things that we said before—“ Whatever he was about to say was trampled as both George and Tommy hissed at him, wanting to forget the whole fight, “—Y’know. You told us those things, Tubbo, that you were sick of it and—“ 

“I know!” Tubbo shoved his fists downwards, stomping his foot angrily, “Let _me_ say it! This is why I betrayed L’Manburg! You all say what I want, like you know me, but you don’t! You don’t! I can speak for myself, and I’m tired of being treated like I can’t!” 

“Go on, Tubbo. You can speak.” Fundy encouraged, making Tubbo’s shoulders lower and his fists loosen, “We’ll listen.” 

“It’s too late.” Tubbo’s tone was cold, colder than they’d ever heard it before, and Wilbur felt a pang through his chest, like he’d just been stabbed with an icicle, at how this boy, this young child, had all hope drained from his eyes, his voice lacking its previous warmth in favour for steely harshness, “The damage has been dealt. Congratulations.” 

Dream’s shoulders shook in a silent laughter as Tubbo stepped a foot forward, leaning slightly before spitting on the ground, right in front of Wilbur, with such hatred in a simple action that it physically stung to the taller. Upon hearing Sapnap snickering, as if he hadn’t just learnt from George’s mistake, Tubbo spun on his heel, turning to the SMP and snarling at them too. 

“Don’t you dare think that you’re all in the clear!” He shouted, and for a brief moment, Eret wanted to congratulate him for standing up for himself, before he remembered what just happened and bit back on his praise, “You’ve been doing exactly the same thing! Cutting me off every time I try to speak for myself!”

In his fit of rage, Tubbo stuck up a middle finger, exclaiming a few profanities which he’d surely learnt from Tommy before stalking towards the blocked-off exit, pulling the bricks away to clear his path. Pausing, he turned his head, looking to each of the soldiers in the room with a flare of anger which they didn’t know he was capable of in his eyes. 

“I’ll be trading with villagers and sobbing over baby bees if you need me. But who does, am I right?” With one last spit, Tubbo turned, leaving a group of awestruck enemies in the blackstone room. Down the hall, Tubbo spoke once more, though it seemed like the others weren’t intended to hear it. 

“There are no winners in war.” 

And sure enough, they all lost something greater than any battle that day.

**Author's Note:**

> My new goal is to fill the Tubbo character tag until it becomes a legit thing. Oh no.


End file.
